


you will be a palimpsest

by Ailelie



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 10:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17958725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailelie/pseuds/Ailelie
Summary: Caleb has removed his bandages, revealing the scars of his past. Given the chance, Jester will rewrite the story of his skin.





	you will be a palimpsest

Caleb rubbed his hands over his bare arms as he watched the distant horizon for incoming threats. The cart trundled on ahead. Wind rustled over the dull grasses and  was barren and foreign, but the cold teased of home. Memories he didn’t want swam through his mind like dark spots through his vision. Oblivion never lasted long enough.

“Do they bother you?” Jester asked; her voice echoed with distance.

“Hm?” Caleb responded automatically, following the sound of her voice back to the present. He replayed the question, and glanced down at his arms with a frown.

He dropped his arms to his side. “No. Sorry. It is just new to see them like this.” He raised one arm as an example. The wide sleeve slid down revealing the scarred and burned flesh beneath. “I have hidden them for a long time.”

“We don’t mind the bandages,” Jester said. “If you’re more comfortable--” she trailed off.

“ _Nein_. You know what they are now.” Caleb slipped both hands into his pockets; his sleeves draped down over his wrists, hiding his arms completely.

“If you’re sure,” Jester said, eyeing his pocketed hands.

“I’m sure.” He nodded toward the cart ahead of them. “We should catch up.”

* * *

The question lingered, poking him at unexpected moments like finger on a bruise. He examined his arms when no one else was watching. The divots where Ikithon had slid crystals in so methodically. _Now summon your flame. Extinguish. Let’s try again._ The dark freckles and shiny splotches of old burns. The worst wrinkled into his flesh, unnaturally hard--remnants of his attempt to join his parents. Coward that he was, he hadn’t managed to push in further than his forearms before the pain was too much. Did they bother him?

Caleb pulled out his journal and started tracing a dry quill over the lines of one his trickier spells. He focused on matching every line perfectly, needing to keep his hands busy or else he was going to cover his arms up. Whether they bothered him did not matter; he could no longer hide from his own monstrosity.

Someone knocked on door to his and Nott’s room of the tiny inn they’d found tucked down an alley near Four Corners. Each room had a small fireplace and Caleb was enjoying the crackling warmth as he worked on enhancing his bubble spell. As much as he liked his companions, he was tiring of the cramped sleeping space while camping.

“Come in,” Caleb said, not looking up from his writing.

“Hello, Caleb, have you seen Nott?”

“Caduceus asked her to teach him some card games.”

“Oh, that was smart of him.”

Caleb looked up when he heard the creak of a mattress. Jester sat on the edge of the bed, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle in front of the fire between them.

“Isn’t it hot with your coat on?” she asked.

Caleb stiffened. His armpits and the back of his neck were damp with sweat, his shirt clung to his skin beneath his heavy coat. Removing the coat, though, would mean looking at his scars as he wrote. They didn’t bother him, but he couldn’t concentrate when he saw them. Old memories and Jester’s soft question bounced around his mind, wrecking his focus. The scars were nothing less than he deserved, but then he’d hear her voice, sweet with concern.

“Caleb?” Jester asked, leaning forward, her hands holding onto the bed.

“ _Ja_ ,” he answered. “It is warm.” He could not lie about something so petty, not to her.

“Then take off your coat,” she said, laughing. “You’re supposed to be the smart one, Cayleb.” She drew his name out and a smile flickered across his lips.

He shrugged the coat off, letting it flop backward over his chair. “Why were you looking for Nott?”

“I thought she might want to send a Message to Yeza again. I can wait, though. I don’t want to interrupt while Caduceus is distracting her."

“So you’ll interrupt me instead?” Caleb asked, softening his question with a smile.

“You’ve been cooped up here for hours, Caleb. You need to take a break.”

Ninety minutes was not hours, but instead of correcting her, Caleb closed his book and shifted in his chair so that he was facing her. “So what shall we do on this break?” he asked, barely holding back a cringe as he realized he’d assumed her participation.

Jester beamed. “Well, we could go down and join Beau, Yasha, and Fjord in the tavern--” Caleb winced and Jester laughed “--or not. It is very loud down there. I know!” She clapped her hands and jumped up to her feet. “We can dance.”

“Jester,” Caleb said, drawing her name out with reluctance.

“I want to dance, Caleb. Fjord won’t and Beau can’t. And Yasha doesn’t know any of the dances I know, but you do.” She held her hands out to him. “Please? No one will see.”

“We don’t have any music," he said, accepting her hands. He couldn’t deny her something so simple. She pulled him to his feet.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got that handled.” She flicked her wrist like a conductor and a simple piano melody started playing.

“So you do.” Caleb lowered one hand to her waist and shifted his other to hold her hand upright. “The room is too small for the good dances.”

“We’ll make it work,” Jester said. She stepped back, pulling Caleb with her.

“Aren’t I supposed to lead?” Caleb asked, pinching her side lightly.

“You were taking too long.” She smiled up at him, bright and open. His words gone, he moved sideways. Jester moved with him easily.

The melody lasted little over three minutes before repeating. Together, Caleb and Jester mapped out the space of the room. He spun her by the door, her skirt rippled across the wood. She tricked him into a low dip by the bed; his hair brushed along the blanket as she pulled him back to his feet. He tried to look stern, but she collapsed into his chest with laughter and he couldn’t stop from joining her. By the fourth time the melody repeated, Caleb was humming along.

He felt light-headed. The warmth of the room and Jester in his arms. The increasingly ridiculous dance steps they created to fit the small room. Jester grinning, firelight dancing in her eyes.

The melody started to play a fifth time, but Jester cut it off with a gesture. “I think we need another break,” she said, dropping onto his bed.

“A break from our break?” Caleb asked, sitting beside her.

“Yes.”

Caleb looked down at their hands a finger’s width apart. A very stupid part of him wanted to close that gap, to rest his pinky by her pinky, or to be especially stupid and cover her hand with his own. He tore his gaze from their hands.

“Caleb? Are you okay? You just got super quiet.”

He could not tell her what he’d been thinking. She could never know. But he couldn’t lie.

So he gave her a different truth.

“I was wrong before,” he said.

“About what?” Jester asked, her brows crinkling.

“My scars.” He lifted his arm nearest her. “They do bother me.”

“Oh Caleb.” Jester reached for his arm, pulling back just before touching him. “I wish I could Heal or Mend them.”

“They are what they are. I don’t want to wrap them up again, but--” his shoulders slumped forward “--I don’t like looking at them.” He hated this weakness in himself. He should draw strength from his past pain, not whatever this was.

“Well,” Jester said, a teasing tone lightening her voice. “I don’t blame you. They are pretty ugly, but I’m a really good artist. I bet I could paint something super awesome over them.”

“You could?” Caleb asked, forcing himself to match her lightness. He looked down at his outstretched arm. “Paint would wash away--”

“--Only if it rains or we have to swim,” Jester said, pinching at her nose. "Since you don't worry about baths."

Caleb did not laugh at the old joke; an idea was solidifying. Paint would wash away, but ink embedded in his skin would not. “You could give me tattoos.”

“Caleb?” She touched his shoulder lightly.

He met her concerned gaze, a bit of his earlier lightness returning. “I want you to tattoo my arms.” Jester blinked and Caleb worried he’d overstepped. “If you want to, I mean.”

Jester did not respond for twenty heart pounding seconds. “It would be really good practice,” she said, finally. Her hands moved wildly with her words. “Are you sure? I know I’m good, but I’m still pretty new. Maybe we should find someone who’s even better than I am, like Orly.”

Caleb cringed at the thought of anyone else at the other end of the needle. He reached out and calmed her hands with his own. “I trust _you_ , Jester,” he said.

The blue of her cheeks deepened to indigo. “What would you want for your tattoos?” she asked, her voice oddly uneven.

“You’re the artist,” he said.

“But they’re your arms. And tattoos last a really long time, Caleb, like forever.”

Caleb shook his head. “Just cover the scars and I’ll be happy. I trust you.”

The door opened before Jester could reply. Nott bust in carrying a small tin of tea and talking about using Caduceus as a ringer to rake in cash. Her torrent of words stopped suddenly and she stared at them, her eyes wide as the moon. Caleb realized that he was still sitting by Jester on the bed, holding her hands.

He and Jester moved at once. He pulled back; she jumped up.

“I’ll go sketch some designs,” Jester said, backing toward the door. She bumped into the doorframe in her haste.

“ _Ja_. Good. I look forward to seeing them.”

“Good. Okay, good night, Caleb. Good night, Nott. Stop by my and Beau’s room if you want to send a Message to Yeza later. Bye.” The door slammed shut behind her.

Nott stared at Caleb, then the door, and then back at Caleb. “ _What_ was _that_?” she asked.

Caleb coughed. “Nothing. We were just talking.”

Nott’s eyes narrowed. “Talking,” she repeated. “We’re going to talk about this later, Cay. But first, I’m going to go see Jester about that Message to Yeza.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Mmhm,” Nott said, clearly not believing him. She left the room slowly, keeping her eyes on Caleb.

Once she was gone, Caleb slumped forward and cursed. Then with a deep breath, he stood and went downstairs to get fantastically drunk with Beau before Nott could return and demand answers. He couldn’t handle that, not tonight at least, not when he had no clue what those answers might be.

* * *

Jester did not approach him for days. They talked, but never about the tattoos. He caught her glaring at him sometimes over her open sketch book, but then she’d smile at him like he was Oscar from her book, or Fjord. His stomach knotted up with anticipation for whatever she would say when she decided to talk with him again. His lack of appetite irritated Nott, but she hadn’t brought Jester up again since Caleb had stumbled into their room at the inn, his vision smearing and stomach one wrong step from emptying itself.

In the meantime, they were continuing their trek through the foothills of the cold mountains toward Ghor Dranas and huddling together within his bubble each night. The moor bounders, secured to nearby trees, curled together outside.

At least near the mountains, the landscape was not as lifeless as it had been on the plains. Shaggy deer slipped between the trees like shadows. Tall stalks of yellow flowers grew under the trees and thick white and green blossoms bloomed from cocoons of dead leaves.

In the gloaming, they drifted back toward the tree line to camp. Caleb started a fire while Caduceus worked through their packs, testing spices and balancing out real and cleric-made food. Jester sketched near the fire and chattered with Nott about code words for future investigative work. Nott foraged along the trees for mushrooms and plants for Caduceus to sort through for safe use. Any he discarded as poison, Nott piled up for later experimentation. She had become preoccupied with poisons of late. Further away, Fjord and Beau talked quietly over a map. Yasha stood at the edge of their camp, keeping an eye on the horizon.

When Nott returned to the fire, she also carried two flower stalks. Small yellow flowers with long stems bunched together at the top of the stalks. These she brought by Caleb.

“For extra luck,” she said, plucking the flowers from their stalks and threading them through Caleb’s hair. Nott was always careful, picking apart tangles and scratching his scalp gently as she arranged each flower just so. No one had touched him like that for a very long time. If Caleb closed his eyes, he could pretend his mother was carding his hair or his father was combing his hair back to be neat like his. He kept his eyes open.

Across the flickering fire, Jester stopped sketching. She watched Nott arrange the flowers, her eyes widening.

“That’s it!” Jester said, snapping her book shut.

Nott stopped moving and looked over at Jester. “What’s it, Jester?”

Jester hopped around the fire and sat down by Caleb. “The tattoos.” Nott echoed her again, but Jester did not seem to notice. Instead she poked Caleb. “Show me your arms. I need to sketch out where the scars are so I can plan my designs.”

“You’re going to tattoo Caleb?” Nott asked as Caleb let Jester push up his sleeves.

“He didn’t tell you?” Jester asked, arranging his arm so the light hit it well. Her hands were warm.

“She’s going to cover my scars,” Caleb said, cutting that line of questioning off.

“Really?” Nott asked, lowering her voice.

Caleb nodded. He needed and deserved the scars, but he could still find them by touch no matter what Jester did. And this made her happy.

“So what design are you going to do, Jes?” Nott hopped down to watch Jester sketch Caleb’s arms into her journal. “That’s a lot of Tusk Tooths. Teeth? Tooths.”

“I did think about that and I might do _one_ because it is tradition, but Caleb has a lot of arm, you know? And it’d be super boring doing the same design over and over again.”

“What will you do instead?” Nott asked.

“I was thinking flowers?” Jester said, pitching it as a question. “Because there are lots of different flowers and--”

“--they’ll keep him safe,” Nott completed the thought.

“Exactly and, even better, he can’t lose these.”

Nott pulled a flower from Caleb’s hair and handed it to Jester. “To get you started.”

Jester beamed. “Thank you, Nott.” She tilted her head to look up at Caleb. “Is that okay with you, Caleb? They are your arms.”

“I like flowers.” He hadn’t noticed flowers much before, but Nott had changed that. Flowers belonged fully to Caleb, not Bren. He watched her sketch. Nott, finished with the flowers, squeezed Caleb’s shoulder and went over to her pile of poisonous and bitter plants. Jester screwed up her face in concentration, carefully reproducing every mark. His earlier worry dissipated, leaving behind the urge to tease. “I’m surprised you aren’t going for an all dick design.”

Jester laughed. “Oh, there are going to be dicks. You’ll just have to find them.”

“I look forward to it,” he said softly, too serious for the moment. He smiled when Jester’s pen stuttered over her page. She threw him off-kilter daily; repaying her was always satisfying.

She nudged him. “You need to keep still.” Instead of pointing out that he hadn’t moved, he stiffened his posture like a statue, drawing another laugh from her.

After the meal, Beau and Fjord discussed the distance they still needed to travel to reach Yeza and made plans for when to set out the next morning. When Nott volunteered for the second watch, Caleb said he’d join her. Yasha and Jester volunteered to take third.

Nott frowned. “Actually, Jes, do you mind swapping with me? I’d like to talk with Yasha about--” she looked down at her hands “--things.”

“I’m sure we’ll reach him in time,” Caduceus said, and with a pang, Caleb realized that, of their group, only Yasha had had and lost a spouse.

Jester seemed to reach the same realization. “Oh, Nott, of course we can switch. I don’t mind keeping watch with Caleb, even if he is a little, you know.” She wrinkled her nose and waved her hand in front of it.

Caleb glared at her teasingly, breaking into a small smile when she winked at him.

“Thank you, Jester,” Nott replied.

With that decided, they cleaned up the camp and Caleb formed his bubble. He nestled down in the pile of blankets and coats, his back pressed against Yasha’s and Nott’s head burrowed into his chest. He was going to learn to make a bigger bubble and even a mansion one day, but for now, the closeness was nice.

He slept easily without nightmares until Fjord nudged him awake. Across the bubble, Jester was yawning and trading places with Beau. Caleb picked his way across the bodies and joined Jester at the edge of the bubble. Behind them, Nott and Caduceus snored and Beau and Fjord shifted into comfort.

Once Fjord’s snoring had joined the chorus, Jester nudged Caleb with her shoulder. “You know, your bubble keeps us pretty safe.”

“It does.”

“So _technically_ we don’t have to keep _complete_ watch outside, right?”

“I suppose. What did you have in mind?”

Jester reached down by her other side and pulled her tattoo kit into her lap. “If you didn’t mind, I thought we could get started?”

“Now?” Caleb pulled back so he could look at her face.

She tapped her kit. “Now.”

This was really happening. Before he could second-guess himself, Caleb pushed up his sleeve and moved his arm so he wrist rested on her knee. “Now,” he agreed.

Jester smiled and unrolled her kit. As she cleaned the skin of his inner forearm, Caleb asked if she needed any light. “No, I'm good.”

“Of course you are.” He watched as she readied her needle and ink. In the darkness she was velvet shadow, a glimmer of blue. Her leg was warm beneath his arm; her side was warm against his own.

“This might hurt,” she warned. Then with a tap, she began.

Caleb sucked in a breath at the initial intrusion, but then the pain faded to white noise and he found comfort in the rhythm. Even watching blood well up at the pin prick sites did not bother him. Jester glanced up occasionally, gauging his pain, and he appreciated her even more deeply for it. Ikithon had never cared about the trauma he caused. He’d been afraid receiving a tattoo would remind him too much of the crystals in his skin, but instead, Jester’s steady work slipped over the thoughts, neatly beating them down and replacing them with this.

Her breath in his ear. The snores of their companions. The pink glow of moonlight through the bubble. Her warmth. The sureness of her hand. The silent checking in. Her caring.

Caleb conjured a single light to illuminate her work. Along the bone that stretched beneath his wrist and thumb, a cluster of small yellow flowers with a long green and brown stem formed.

“I’m supposed to tell you to wrap it up apparently, but if you do that, then you can’t see it, so--” with a touch of her hand, she cast Healing Word, and the skin healed, leaving the pristine tattoo. “So? What do you think? It’s looks really good, doesn’t it?”

The flowers covered one of the divots in his skin; the shadowing of the petals obscured the scar entirely. “Beautiful,” he breathed. Then, before he could think, he lunged sideways and wrapped Jester in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

“Oh Caleb,” Jester said, hugging him back. The side of her horn pressed against the back of his head. “We’re just getting started. You’re going to have so many flowers.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I can’t wait.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Drabble follow-ups in comments).
> 
> The title is from this poem by Neil Gaiman:
> 
> I will write in words of fire. I will write them on your skin. I will write about desire. Write beginnings, write of sin. You're the book I love the best, your skin only holds my truth, you will be a palimpsest lines of age rewriting youth. You will not burn upon the pyre. Or be buried on the shelf. You're my letter to desire: And you'll never read yourself. I will trace each word and comma As the final dusk descends, You're my tale of dreams and drama, Let us find out how it ends.


End file.
